A Mermaid's Tear and Promises
by The Ghoul In Pajamas
Summary: He’d not seen her since that horrible night in his parents’ Manor, he hated the sound of her cries for help and for her life. Then, out of nowhere came the order for him to kill her. Can he live with her lifeless eyes sketched into the back of his mind.
1. Author

**"A Mermaids Tear and Promises"**

Author's Note to a Prologue

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_The legend of a Mermaid's Tears say that the tears were created by mermaids, who sobbed at sea as they witness misery. As their tears hit the water, they turned. Lovingly nurtured by the ocean; tossed and churned; pounded by the waves and rumbling across the sea to create an amazing piece of beautiful._

* * *

Hello, Thank you for choosing to read this story it is one of my first and will always be my first heart. There is a Prologue to this tale, and if you would like to view it, please visit my profile page for

"A Mermaid's Tear and Promises."

_Sincerely, __The Ghoul In Pajamas_


	2. Chapter 1 Acting on Kindness

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything but my imagination and whatever else is in this story that doesn't make sense. I was inspired by J.K. Rowlings wonderful world. Enjoy!

**Chapter 1**

**"Acting on kindess"**

* * *

_They say a person needs just these things to be_

_Truly happy in this world: someone to love, some-_

_thing to do, and something to hope for._

* * *

_((two years after Voldemort ...))_

_He lay there half in a conscious state half out, his carelessness with the holiday brandy left him in a perfect state of nowhere_..._The sound of the wall clock released another chime. Draco was asleep at his desk and multiple loose slips of parchment paper piled under his head served as a poor pillow._

Yea that's me. Pitiful right?

Wrong, so I had a drink or four who's counting, if your life seemed as fucked up as mine you'd drink yourself into the deepest oblivion night after night...drinking was the only thing that seemed to help. Hell no I didn't find this in any book either. Loads of money wasted on healers and not one of them had a clue as to how to undo the damaged. I discovered on my own that I was better off away from everyone, and even better off wasted. The trouble now is that I find myself drinking alot more to get the same affects.

So what's wrong with me?

Do you truly want to know?

It was the night that change my entire life and here's the real shitty part. I can remember that night with absolute clarity....because it stays with me no matter where I go. That night, we were all frightened beyond reason. My aunt was shouting at me, my mother was screaming at her, and father he was damning the entire lot of us for not having the slightest fucking idea of what to do. Greyback and his snatchers had captured and delivered Potter to our very front door. So try to remember, that at this very moment my nightmares will begin. The hour they arrived, I was asleep upstairs in my room. Shouts and voices traveled clear up the stairs and I had awoken to a pot of shit-luck reality that Harry and his little band of avengers had finally been captured.

* * *

_The yelling of Ron faded into the unclear darkness below the stairs and he was drugged out of sight. _

_(Draco's right arm gave a twitch while he sleep on.) _

_A door slammed below..._

* * *

Her first scream was the worst I'd ever heard in my life. '_Hold the scum'_ was my aunt's exact words. And I did as I was told and I locked a firm hold around Granger's neck, my other arm pinned and twisted her so that she could not move and I forced her towards my aunt and the others.

Bellatrix stood before us holding her wand and taking aim. Granger, she struggled at the start, and I could feel her shaking with fear. I protested at first and didn't want to help them anymore. I didn't want to be part of any of it, and Bellatrix knew it, so in her book I was a worthless maggot. In her eyes I was as filthy as the mudblood she planned on killing that night.

My mothers pleas and cries for mercy meant nothing to my aunt, she forced a Imperius spell on me and demanded for me to restrain Granger, The Dark Lord needed answers, anything else was irrelevant.

_(.......His arm gave another violent shake in his sleep....)_

"_**I'm going to ask you again! Where did you get the sword? Where?"**_

When the first one hit, Granger had stopped fighting against me entirely. The power of the Cruciatus Curse had left her as helpless as a slug in saltwater. I hated what was happening now; not just to her, but to me, myself as well.

I deserved it, I was always the one siding with them, glorifying their ways. I had to admit as a boy I had slugs for brains. Yeah I had it coming to me, sooner or later and after I disobeyed the order to finish the bodies of the other two snatchers. My aunt saw me as nothing but a coward.

Prove my loyalty, prove my strength in our family and earned my right to bear the mark of a Deatheater. If I wasn't such a coward I would have told her the deatheather's can suck my cock!

I saw the spell as it came spiraling down, and heard Granger cry out. I felt her scream penetrate my chest before the curse even touched her. Bellatrix released her curse on me long enough to strike. It was a split second decision I made, a choice of sacrifice that even I could not reason with at the time. I could have ran my chicken-hearted little ass off the moment I knew I was free. But why, how far would I get, where could I go?

I released my hold on Granger instantly and like a frighten cat she clawed at my other restraining arm around her neck. If I abandoned her, she would die. I knew that and so did she.

My right hand found the small of her back just as the spell struck her and I betrayed my family....

**Author's note:** Please read and review.


	3. Chapter 2 The Final Big Plan

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything but my imported blue china and whatever else is in this story that doesn't make sense. I was inspired by J.K. Rowlings wonderful world. Enjoy!

**Chapter 2**

**The Final Big Plan**

* * *

_You place too much importance... on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be._

_~Albus Dumbledore. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire._

* * *

_**PROTEGO!**_

As suddenly as the word entered my mind the surge of the cruciatus curse traveled through Granger's body setting the joints in my fingers on fire with a pain that swarmed clear down my right side and consumed it with hell itself.

It was clear to me now, this was the last test granted to me and I had failed it as well. And Bellatrix now intended for me to share in the torture. I'd thrown away my last opportunity to prove myself, blown all my chances and run out of hope in her book. I had to choose, and didn't have long to decide. To take part in Granger's destruction _or_ endure her pain. I focused every ounce of my strength on that moment. This was not just their war, it was my war as well. Thing is I didn't see it until that moment. I knew Granger was strong, but not strong enough for this; not alone.

She would die.

My hold around her neck tighten and was cruelly done out of fear.

What happened to me? Why would I protect a muggleborn witch? Who the hell knows why I did half the shit I did back then. Maybe, it was some unexplainable act of kindness. A second order that had transpired from within my own heart. - I just wanted my damn life back, to be normal, a kid again. Strangely none of them gave a damn about that.

On that night, in that house and at that very moment. I became the man my father demanded of me but not the man he wanted.

But what we needed now was time. Time, and I knew Potface would find a way out; He always did find a way out.

* * *

"_**We found it —we found it —Please!"**_

Granger's pleading meant nothing to her. I waited. Our breathing became one...

Another flash filled the room....

_**PROTEGO! **_...The word flooded my brain and my mind went spinning with pain as I forced the counter spell into her body. I laugh at it now. My hour to play the hero, fucking mental I could have died too.

This was my BIG plan -expelled it! block the curse! Had it ever been done? Yes, it was possible. But I was amateur at best and my strength was no match. I had never truly master that free magic crap and it was draining me, plus it wasn't fucking working from what I could tell.

Her screams were loud! _What if I couldn't save her?_ What if I simply wasn't as strong as I hoped? Again, I summoned the magic and sealed against the burning touch of her skin, again the protective word came. This time mentally, quickly and more clearly than the last. With more freedom than before, and without a moment's hesitation, as if it was being wheeled by someone else, someone other than me.

Was I scared? -Does a troll eat dung for breakfast? I was as scared as a pissing baby. Couldn't use my fucking wand, couldn't run. That crazy bitch of a witch would treat me no finer than a monkey in a cage if I chose to fight her and then Granger and I would have both been killed instantly and perhaps even my parents.

* * *

_The wall clock chimed again…he dreamt on……_ _—the pounding of his heart flooded his nightmare. __Meer moments stretched an eternity; as another blast slammed so hard against Hermione that it threaten to splinter his very bones. His nerves, every vein, every fiber scream to be released. _

"God let her stop!"_ …."_Any moment he'd be here. Any moment Potter would come. -**_PROTEGO!_"** _He uttered the word through his dreaming, in a dreadful growl. He could smell the sweat of her hair. _As he imprisoned her, it imprisoned him and he pushed himself to the limit. Waiting for a miracle. Draco was a pure wizard and like any pureblooded witch or wizard, he could perform magic without a wand if forced or threaten. He knew this and used it to protect the very person he'd always despised. But, to protect her he would endanger himself, expelling as much of the curse as he could, just at the precise moment, it had to be perfect. He could only hope it would spare her, pray that the killing curse would not come next and snuff them both out. For him it was like being in hell and not knowing why you were there.

"You are lying, filthy mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!"

Every thing became a blur. Another terrible scream ripped through the Manor. Hermione's body was ripped from the room. Draco screamed and fell from his chair and onto the floor. He heard himself yelling for it to stop. "Please stop!" But of course there was no way to stop it. His entire body was filled with pain and his arm was alive. And an eerie sort of magic spilled from it.

Bending to his knees, he stumbled to his feet, grabbing his arm in a rush and pinned it firmly against the desktop. It shook and vibrated with a mind all its own; and that's how it was, his arm; to describe it was impossible.


	4. Chapter 3 A Hellafide Reality

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything but my imagination and whatever else is in this story that doesn't make sense. I was inspired by J.K. Rowlings wonderful world. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 3**

"**A Hellafide Reality"**

The lamplight upon his desk flickered, as the unnatural magic passed from his body, through its wood. His breathing was heavy and the throbbing brought tears to his eyes.

Behind him, upon another table, by the window sat a basin filled to the brim with Murlap. After a moment or two, the stupid thing would stop seizing and he would merge it into the cool liquid. The sound of the girl's screaming and the words of his deranged aunt's voice faded away in his mind. He was awake now and the trembling in his cursed arm had begun to relax some, he turned towards the basin overlapping with the solution and plunged as much of his arm in as would go. Grabbed a nearby glass and downed the rest of his mead.

He groaned and dropped his head, resting there with his fingers sloshing in and out of the liquid. This shit never worked, he had no idea why he bothered with it. It was just better than doing nothing at all he supposed. At least it gave some comfort to the stinging under his nails. In all honesty, Draco knew that his wand hand was royally fucked up. He stood there ten minutes, maybe more. Soaking his problems away, thinking on tomorrow. Perhaps he'd stop by Gringotts. He simply hadn't found the time for holiday shopping.

Other than nights like this one, Draco never thought of Hermione, not once. She was only a part of a reoccurring nightmare that haunted him, an object sealed to his hellafide reality. He never thought to blame her for his cursed arm. Only once did the memory of her strike him. Could it have been pity that allowed him to throw his life away for her?

Possibly. He didn't know if it were possible for a pure muggleborn to perform free magic, as a matter of fact he was sure it wasn't. If he had not aided her, Granger would be no brighter than a picnic basket today. His aunt was known for torturing her victims to the point of insanity and even death. Perhaps, he did pity her state of helplessness. Regardless, of the reason, his change of affection, his actions that night were the reason his life had never been the same. But ,he told himself that he hadn't done it for Potter, her, or anyone. He would have given anything to have his normal life again and for that reason he acted on his own accord.

No, he never blamed anyone, he just never gave _her _a moment's thought, or if he did he also thought of his Aunt Bellatrix's, and her damned spell-casting. And if he thought of his aunt only then did he think of the girl Granger. And they both made him think of that revolting werewolf, which only made him remember you-know-who, which made his arm start to freak the fuck out, and his nightmares more real. It all just sort of merged together like one big clump of shit that he just wanted to forget.

When the throbbing in his cursed arm had finally stopped, he went back to his desk, picked up his quill and sat down. He had planned to make short work of this, it would soon be turning three a.m., and there were still scrolls of inventory and weekly order sheets flooding every shelf of the office wall. Special orders that were dating back since November and more were steadily piling up and had been arriving all day. Last week's orders now filled a second trash bin, rather than their desinated filing drawer; which currently held what should have been his lunch for the evening.

Draco rubbed his eyes. They stung terribly; it wasn't from the few cheap shots of firewhiskey he'd indulged in earlier that day. No, in fact it was from his second night of another skipped meal, another skipped shower, and not nearly enough sleep.

_Why? _You ask. Why, should Draco Malfoy trouble himself with anything that displeased his fancy? It's simple really. The money and loads of it and then there was - _The money_. Aaa! Did he mention that part? Yes, well at this time in his life it was his baby, his jewel, his sweet little everything. She kept him happy most of the time. Well groomed with the finest wizarding attire. She kept him well feed and supplied him with every desire he hoped for, even through this miserable holiday. _Love of gold_ _and_ _wealth _this was as natural as breathing for him, just as it had been with his father, his mother and any bloodline connected to his family. Nearly two years had passed since his final days at Hogwarts. A boy no longer but a young man, powerful compared to most his age, influential just as Lucius had been, and rich. His lavishing glory had been earned by his own cleverness and a fair endorsement from a few private investors were the start of it all; and Draco had basically launched a multi-million galleon market.

Priceless dark works of art disguised as fashionable jewelry. Any way they could carve them, his enterprise did it. Any form or size, you name it, the Malfoy's provided: Pentagrams, Runes, talismans of all shades, Amulets of the watch tower carved to suit your wand, Goblin stones used to seduce your beloved one; fashioned as rings and wrist watches. Mermaid tears, Fire rocks that could be worn as belts and bracelets, his inventory was endless.

Lucius had assisted him with launching his _first_ and now a rather vastly growing new business. But the true beauty of it was that it require no use of his wand and it was entirely _his_.

Amazing, as it seemed too many, the study of the dark arts was now on the rise faster than a ban of wild bow truckles. Voldemort was over; The Deatheater ban had shattered and disbursed throughout London and the once forbidden hush, hush of the dark arts arouse a new curiosity or more like a need. Partly, because no one lived in fear of _You-know-who _any longer. Wizard and Witches simply sought the study of dark magic as a necessary skill; one that the Ministry of Magic had withheld for decades and for the most part families had begun to wonder. Will they be ready should their lives ever fall victim to the threats and killings that had taken place in their world two years ago? And years before that?

Now private professor were little more than re-modified Death Eaters with their vails removed to hide the truth of their past. Most of them could now be hired to instruct secretly behind closed doors, never mind what Hogwarts thought or taught for that matter.

Drumstrang provided classes openly and as a required course. _The_ _Dark Arts and Defense against the Dark Arts _had transpired into a two part itinerary for the other wizarding schools to soon follow. Debates and the ongoing controversy stirred the belief in many that if Hogwarts teachers had not been so damn namby-pamby with certain fields of magic; then perhaps the death toll of the student and its on staff would have been far lower during the great battle.

Draco turned a page in the large catalog upon his desk and groaned as his mini-version of a Christmas tree began caroling "_Peppermint Pops on My Broomstick._"

Over the next few minutes he'd gone through quite a few special orders for bronze runic stones; the order was a several days late and should have been delivered this morning.

The office clock released another chime as it drummed past the third hour of the night and now the grooves between his forefinger and thumb were pounding again.

He dropped the tip of the quill into the ink bottle. He was all to satisfied with the amount of work he put in today and decided to leave it there and call it a night for now. He leaned back in his seat and stood from behind his writing table and made his way for the metal cloak rack in the corner.

Within a few short steps he found his way to the glass door of his office and with his free hand extinguished the lights. He grasped a firm hold and twisted the door knob open. He stood in the darkness and stared blindly out of the window behind his chair. Snow was falling again. What did he plan to do with the rest of his life? He could feel the tingling in his right arm fading in and out. Jesus. For the past six months he hadn't been able to summon up the slightest interest in making love with any woman. And they often dangled themselves in front of him like Quidditch trophies; and as if the fact of this were some poor joke, he laughed.

Something small and brassy caught his eye, he walked over to his desk, and scooped up the key he would need to enter his room for the night. He also made a mental note to visit a few of his newer shops along Diagon Alley tomorrow. Perhaps, he go by floo to avoid the flock of women that would be kicking their heels at his cloak tail. Women, who had no idea that his sex drive had just took a nose dive somewhere along the way.

"I'm fucking starving," he said as his stomach growled in protest for a bite to eat. He felt the weight of coins jingling against the key he dropped in his pocket.


	5. Chapter 4 Best Left Unspoken scene 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything but my imagination and whatever else is in this story that doesn't make sense. I was inspired by J.K. Rowlings wonderful world. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 4**

**Best Left Unspoken **

**(scene 1)**

* * *

_The emotion that can break your heart_

_is sometimes the very one that heals it…_

**I**f you were standing just outside the door, a rivulet of evergreen garnishments twinkled and shined against the snowy streets of London. A scatter of frosty red and green street lights changed colors for a non-existing traffic.

But, high above the heavy wooden door of the Leaky Cauldron a rickety sign hung against the gusty winds. It was plain, dull and completely unnoticeable when compare to the magnificent decorations of the other surrounding shops; because on this door there was only a single holly wreath, old and tattered from ages of being stuff away somewhere. Inside, beyond the wooden door there was a wonderful warm fire and it chased away the winter's night chill.

A waitress dressed in a smoky grey dress and white apron approached a round table.

"Quelque chose d'autre?; Mes Granjer."

It was the french voice of the elderly witch that often tended to the late hours of the Leaky Cauldron and she was speaking to Hermione.

"Hmmm?…Err.. Yes," Hermione swallowed down her last bite, laid aside her spoon and gently wiped the corners of her lips with the napkin. "Mrs. Lufkin, that was wonderful. Smitty's beef and apple cobbler will set the record someday."

The silver haired waitress smiled thanks, as Hermione paid her for the meal.

"bien merci Miss Granjer," she said as Hermione coined out four knuts and a sickle. "May I wrap up a bit more for your Crookshanks mes cher, plenty to spare where that comes from."

Hermione forced a sad smile at the mentioning of her poor friend. "He'd like that," she said as her thoughts fell to her cat. "Thank you."

The waitress dropped the money into her apron front pocket.

Soft playful giggles could be heard from a near corner booth table.

It was a young couple, about in their late twenties or so and Hermione wasn't exactly spying, but they did seem to be putting on a bit of an r-rated show for all to see.

Hermione whispered lowly to the waitress about the couple and she and the old lady laughed in agreement. She forced her eyesight away from the young man's hands as he firmly gripped his lover's bottom and pulled her closer. It was best that she didn't watch. It's been a long year, and watching the handsome man snogging in such a way made her miss Ron even more.

She looked down at the engagement ring he'd given her before he departed. Ron, had not resided in London for nearly a year now. She'd tried to keep her promise to visit him often. But, her current condition made it a rather risky vacation to take. She knew he would make a great dragon's master someday but the magic they often used around her, made her worry - a lot.

If there was anything he taken to heart more than Quidditch, it was Dragons_._He was happy with his new passion so she was happy for him. Who would have guessed that he'd take up the deadly forte of dragon training with his brother in Romania? Amazing as it seemed, riding that horrible beast the day of the Gringott's bank robbery had obviously stirred something exciting in Ron and he became obsessed with wanting to tame them for wizards work. Soaring on the backs of fire-breathing dragons left little room to fear spiders she supposed.

Harry and Ginny were also very busy assisting George with the Christmas rush of his shop this time of year. Checking in on Mr. Weasley at the Ministry was usually added to their list. Mr. Weasley had become a bit overwhelmed lately, even with Percy there to assist.

* * *

"And finish with your usual will you?… Cup o' tea?" The waitress pulled a cleaning towel from mid-air and the motion of it seemed to snap a hole in Hermione's daydream.

Mrs. Lufkin began to clean the surface of the table.

"Sorry, Hmm -tea? I suppose so, "Hermione agreed slowly and drew her attention back to the _Daily Prophet. _She had actually been reading at the pace of a snail in search of page eleven. There was no rush she hadn't set forth any plans for tomorrow.

Two swipes of a kitchen cloth and her bowl had been replaced with a spotless new saucer and teacup. Hermione turned a page and began to skim the articles.

"I'll be back in a moment," said the waitress as she hurried off to the kitchen to fetch her order of tea.


	6. Chapter 5 Best Left Unspoken scene 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything but my Dolce and Gabanna perfume and whatever else is in this story that doesn't make sense. I was inspired by J.K. Rowlings wonderful world. Enjoy!

**Chapter 5**

**Best Left Unspoken**

**(Scene 2)**

* * *

**A**t that very moment upstairs, an emerald green fire erupted in the fireplace of a fairly large room and Draco Malfoy stepped out onto the wood flanked floor and it moaned beneath the pressure of his pricey shoes.

He was young, smooth skin, beautiful slate grey eyes and twenty years of bleach blonde hair, muscles and sex appeal. Drop dead gorgeous if judged by any witch young or old and he knew it. "Ruddy old pile of rubbish." He complained as the floor creaked.

He removed his cloak and tossed it onto the bed taking a look at his room for the night; it would have to do. He'd requested for their best room, and if this was the finest they could present, then the entire place should be demolished at the mere crack of dawn.

A large canopy style bed robbed the room free space, as it was nearly too high for the ceiling. The wall paper could have been something his mother would have chosen for a servant's room. In fact, the only thing he admired about the entire arrangement were the black draperies for his windows.

He snipped at a top button on his shirt and unfastens the silver cuff-links that clamped his sleeves; they were tiny; a rather unnecessary accessory but a fashionable look; something stylish, different, something that simply said -_Draco_. The cold metal of his wrist watch glistened as he turned its face up, and four stones sparkled back that addressed the hours of twelve, three, six and nine. The time was currently three-twenty one, and what he craved now more than anything was scalloped potatoes, roast beef braised in zinfandel, with a chilled glass of red wine to wash it down. Unfortunately, at this late hour he was not in the mood to travel.

Now, _not _visiting the muggle side was a thing of the past, and many from the wizarding world began to travel about freely in and out of the muggle towns and cities. But to Malfoy, muggles were nothing higher than a new form of servants, and he often dined at their cafes. His mother was never one to be trouble with such things as cooking meals and she'd passed this trait on to him. Paying others for what he wanted was the only way he'd known.

Find a witch you say. No, he was far too preoccupied with more important matters. And the crowd he knew usually did nothing more than add to his own personal load of selfish requests.

A female witch as self-centered as he was? _Well_, if it were family that's one thing, but to share his bed with! The other problem with finding that perfect witch was the fact that, at the time, he there was simply no one in mind.

Then there was the expensive house elves. Women-needed-house elves! His mother owned several of her own. But many elves were on the rebellion now, they've somehow gathered the absurd idea of being paid for their ridiculous labor. He'd pay a muggle for service because at least they were human, but he'd be out of his mind to pay a elf.

**A**ll of his former thoughts were aside, drown out from the hunger plaguing him. He found his way along the winding stairs and into the narrow archway towards the downstairs bar of the Leaky Cauldron. Instantly, he was welcomed with the dull glow of the parlor chandeliers. A rustic wooden floor gleamed back at him, as it appeared to have just been mopped.

A large wooden table stood alone in the center of the room and several mixtures of square and round tables dotted the walls with a late night guest or two.

Tom the barkeeper gave a toothless smile as Draco entered. "Good evening, Mr. Malfoy sir, always a pleasure." Tom wasn't one to speak much, his lack of teeth could have been the reason why. And when Tom spoke his words were usually pronounce with a sort of ignorant slur.

"Tom." Draco greeted the hunch back with a nod and began to roll up the sleeve of his white shirt.

"Care for a drink Mr. Malfoy, Aye received a fresh shipment today sir; It'ull warm your blood from the cold."

"No - thank you," Draco replied as he lazily searched the room, determining where he would have his meal for the night. He noticed two old wizards shared another long table near the front door and they appeared to be examining a frayed cloth-like parchment.

Draco found it a bit strange that they both kept apologizing continuously to one another.

A few tables over, midways in the room, there was a young couple snogging in the corner near the hearth. This in turn brought his attention to the floor, where Draco noticed at the foot of the fireplace laid a furry, gray and ginger colored cat, curled tightly in a ball to keep warm.

Tom hobbled over and handed Draco a torn slip of paper. "And Mr. Smitty might be in th' mood for a special request if the pricing is nice Mr. Malfoy."

_Smitty_, or so they called him was a fat faced and rather short cook that prepared the late night meals for the Leaky Cauldron. Not a real chef in Draco's opinion. Draco looked down at the scribbled words on the paper Tom had handed him. There were several choices for available meals. The first offered was Sardine and tripe ragout, the second was Beef and apple cobbler and lastly there was Potato and liver tart`e.

Anything sounded better than this. "Tom! What is this vomit?" Draco asked frowning and crumbled the paper in his hand as he turned to find the barkeeper.

"Always the Malfoy aren't we!" Came the sound or a woman's voice.

She sat not far, at a single table, with a single chair. He could not make out the face that was hidden. She sat behind an outstretched copy of the Daily Prophet. The lantern above her table, extinguished.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much for reviewing this story. I always love reviews. Sorry I haven't been updated as I should. I am working on three stories currently. So feel free to read and review _**"Spellbinding" **_a Ginny/Voldemort fanfic and _**"Wrapped So Pretty" **_a Draco/Hermione fanfic. I will continue with this one of course, since it was my first.


	7. Chapter 6 Best Left Unspoken scene 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything but my Dolce and Gabanna perfume and whatever else is in this story that doesn't make sense. I was inspired by J.K. Rowlings wonderful world. Enjoy!

**Chapter 6**

**Best Left Unspoken**

**(Scene 3)**

* * *

He moved then. Walking smoothly. His first interest about the woman was that she was hidden, he loved surprises! Secondly, the shy hint of pastel pink over ivory with her painted nails, Sweet! Next, the alluring sexiness of her legs from beneath the table, she's a ten! The alley cat in him gave a stir. He shifted his brow.

_Intrigued? _Asked his inner voice.

Finally someone that moved his fancy. He played on a cute little smile as his imagination formed up a beautiful, blonde, sexy legs and huge tits, bouncy, teasing him through the night. Her lips, lush! Plump! and satisfying!

"Ahem," he cleared his throat as he approached her dark corner, aiming for a more tone.

He'd been dwelling on it for sometime, he wanted…no! needed a girlfriend. His nights had become very mundane. He hated the mundane.

"Always a Malfoy indeed and please do tell ….Er.. How could a wiz- .. a gentlemen such as myself hope to find you in his bed tonight?

She didn't answer. But kept right on doing what she was doing. Her attention was momentarily drawn to a sector of the page twelve. Where several printings of job had been posted. There were loads of unusually things up for auction. The lower colums posted available rooms for those traveling abroad. One job posting in particular seemed to interest her more than the others.

* * *

_Assistant needed immediately._

_Open salary negotiable,_

_Flexible hours some late nights,_

_exciting new business, launching_

_Several new developments_

_Soon._

_Room and board provided_

_with salary deduction. Must_

_Have profound knowledge in_

_Elder Symbols, Ancient Runic_

_Alphabet and pentagrams._

_Please see your local Caput_

_Draconis Jeweler for details._

* * *

"Flexible hours." Hermione whispered, thinking it over. She was only to proud to say she held a great bit of knowledge when it came deciphering symbols and she definitely knew a thing or two about runes. And if the position required little or no magic.... It was a chance she was willing to take. She really wanted to try and have a normal life. Hermione began calculating the available slots in her schedule; when her thoughts were interrupted.

"….Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Draco Malfoy and who may I have the pleasure of dining with -"

Hermione quickly lowered her barricade and nearly tilted her tea cup over. It gave a clatter. "My aren't we the captivator this evening." She said with a rather smart-ass sorta smile. Dropped it as easily as it came and waiting calmly for his invective descriptions of her to follow.

"Granger!" he said awestruck. His voice carried an unexpected tone.

She hadn't expected that reaction from him and it made her sift slightly in her chair. She looked around wondered if his high tone had drawn an audience. His eyes searched her as if she were a question mark or some rare oddity he'd never seen before.

If ever a Malfoy had anything to smile about, then the devil was usually at work behind it.

"Well, well if it isn't Gryffindor's little golden girl Granger." He quickly recovered his cool nature. He was a little surprise to see her …alive.

Draco paused, the sight of her bushy hair was a sure distraction from his office tonight? Why not toy with her a bit he thought; Potter would pop from under her skirt no doubt.

"Well, now…"he said, eyeing her_. "_I see you've changed -alot."

" I see you haven't," she looked away and addressed him with a cruel tone that was very unlike her and went back to examining her paper. She didn't look at him. Not even for a moment. She tossed her hair the side and lifted her teacup. It was empty and she frowned in dismay."Then again there are some of us that will always slither about." She said setting it back down on its saucer.

His boyish smile dropped giving way to a frown almost instantly….

Her reaction to him had lowered his joy a bit; but he soon realized his error. It was stupid of him to assume things had changed between them. Had he gone daft? Pretending for a moment she had become some how approachable for him, that she would be something other than _Granger_; someone other than the snuffy-ass, little, high and mighty sophisticated snob he'd always known. Like an unwarned sneeze it came back to him who they both were.

He remembered that she often carried herself that way, tossing her nose up at _him_.

Intelligent as she seemed to be, she often needed reminding that she wasn't even a pureblood…..

Hermione looked up and wondered why the hell was he still standing there, when something that sounded like pots crashing to the floor came from the kitchen behind them. Next, came shouting and loads of god dammit's and bloody hell's. Seconds later Mrs. Lufkins rushed out to Hermione's table with a hot whistling tea pot, cursing as she went and she began filling her teacup.

Mrs. Lufkin had begun speaking to Hermione very fast in french and when she did not respond to her, only then did the man standing behind her became obvious. "Is everything alright Mes Granjer?" asked the old lady, setting down the steaming pot and she wiped her hands briskly on her apron front.

"Yes Posie, thank you." Hermione assured her with warming smile. "Posie Lufkins, This is Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, Posie Lufkins. Draco is an old Hogwarts classmate from my year" Hermione said "and he's having trouble finding a table."

"Oui, I'll be knowing 'im well enough Mes Granjer." Said the old lady and her eyes passed between the two of them. She could sense the tension. She removed her wand from the slip of her hair bun.

"Madame Narcissa's son are you not?" she asked examining Draco. She reached high over Hermione's head and started the lantern. The tip of her wand shot out a spark and a new blanket of yellow light swallowed the tiny table.

A shimmer caught his eye as teardrop diamond earrings danced beneath the fallen strands that fell around Hermione's cheek.

"I kno of yer mother, I served for the house of Black in my yunger days. She is a lovely women Monsieur… Come and I shall find a lovely table. Yes! just for you… this way please!"


	8. Chapter 7 Best Left Unspoken scene 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything but my broomstick in the corner… and whatever else is in this story that doesn't make sense. I was inspired by J.K. Rowlings wonderful world. Enjoy!

**Chapter 7**

**Best Left Unspoken**

**(Scene 4)**

* * *

"In a moment" he replied rudely to the waitress.

"But our cook waits to prepare your meal, monsieur" said the waitress knowing she had to get these two apart.

Draco didn't answer her, and Hermione wasn't about to simply give in to this intimidation.

"-there is still a bit of bread pudding if you like." continued the old lady.

Draco rolled up his other sleeve, tucking it securly and his grey eyes storming.

Hermione folded the _Daily Prophet_.

The elderly witch step between them and slammed her nobby hip strongly against the table, separating the two of them. "Monsieur Malfoy, it is late, No! we've no trouble here sir." The waitress stop short of that and used her outstretched arm to signal for Draco to continue towards his table where his meal would be waiting. "The pudding is _gratuit_ Monsieur … _free of charge_," she added hoping this would detour him from a quarrel with one of their dearest customers.

_Not here_, a tiny little voice came from somewhere inside Hermione's head, _Not here_ it demanded again, _poor Crookshanks is ill, he doesn't need this and neither do you. The war is over after all._ She reasoned with her inner battle and she held her tongue. Draco struggled to clear his head, and she noticed his anger. Surely this would not end well she thought.

She waited.

A minute passed, two minutes passed, yet there was nothing, no insults as she had anticipated he would deliver, no name calling. Hermione knew he could easily blast her from her seat should he chose to, she had no wand to speak of; it was upstairs in her room, safely locked away. Her breathing became shallow and she lowered her head.

So why isn't he doing _that_ thing Draco does so well, he hasn't seen her in ages, surely he missed destroying her world, her confidence.

But then that unnamable shadow that took nest beneath her table moments ago began to emerged, and took the form of guilt and began to slime its way up her golden spine. Had _he_ even insulted her, or had he only attempted to speak to her on mere common grounds? Her guilt soon gave birth to shame. She had no right to speak to him that way, what had come over her… she wasn't turning into some mean old hag; was she? Alone, with only her cat to care for.

Hermione paused for a moment, and turned to find her old ginger friend still resting safely by the fire side.

However, those same grey eyes were upon her and they had not moved not once as they seemed to barrel into every pore of her skin. Making her feel even more unworthy of her loftiness.

Suddenly it became clear that he was such an unfamiliar wizard to her. How could she expect him to change? When she was just as guilty, unable to graduate from her old ways.

He'd not seen her since that horrible night in his parents' Manor, the night he could hear her screams of pain. He hated the sound of her cries for help, the cries for her life.

There was so much blood when he'd returned with the goblin. Then, out of nowhere came the order for him to kill her. After he'd given so much just to protect her. Bellatrix had continued to torture her for answers. He felt her body give way to the punishment and he himself was so exhausted and drained. Draco had hoped that if he'd retrieved quickly with the goblin as the mad woman had ordered then maybe she would be satisfied.

But no, confirmation from the goblin was not enough; the creature assured her that the sword was a fake, a mere copy.

He didn't have enough sanity left in him to carry with her lifeless eyes sketched into the back of his mind. He didn't want to be a part of the madness anymore. That night, he thought he would lose his mind. The killing needed to stop. Their fear seemed endless and he damned both his parents for everything that was happening to him, damned them, cursed them, calling them so many horrible things. This was also the moment he'd lost days of freedom and his memory ....


	9. Chapter 8 Recalling His Past

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything but my broomstick in the corner… and whatever else is in this story that doesn't make sense. I was inspired by J.K. Rowlings wonderful world. Enjoy!

**Chapter 8**

**Recalling His Past**

* * *

After the war, his parents told him he'd been placed under the _Imperius curse _by The Dark Lord, disobeying and aiding in Granger's escape with Potter and the others.

Bellatrix felt he could no longer be trusted to follow Voldemort's orders, that he was a danger to her master's purpose. He wasn't sure how long he'd been under the curse really, and by the time he'd begun to feel like himself again the worst was over. Hogwarts was in ruins and he could only feel all the pain and damaged his body had endured.

He could remember the smell cinder, and smoke that filled the school halls. His father had found him, his mother was crying and the dead body of his friend Crabb was never recovered. No one could ever explained how or really what the hell was going on or why he couldn't regain those lost days. But he needed to know.

When had he gone from his parent's home to school?

Had he been taken?

What other terrible thing had Voldemort requested of him in those lost days? Everything was an outright blur. Goyle stayed unconscious in the days following the battle, and in the end, his memory was as empty as Draco's. The only ones that could have enlightened him with part of it, were Potter and Weasley, but judging the hatred Granger was unleashing on him at this moment, he'd done right to stay away from the three of them all this time.

Hermione forced a sad smile, "I'm sorry," she said hiding her shame, and a single tear fell and it matched the jewels she wore so proudly.

He even noticed the brown hue of her eyes. How amazing they were without the shadow of death upon them. The delicate top she was wearing made her look almost normal_._ The earrings she wore he recognized as his own work. Mermaid tears, very pricey, extremely rare and nearly impossible to capture. For a half-witch she wore them beautifully_,_ and something about her told him she was not one to cry often. So the idea of causing her pain staggered him, he took a step back and Hermione saw that he did so, and was mildly grateful.

"It's been a pleasure," was the only thing she said next. For the moment it was the only thing she could muster. It was decent at best, not an insult…but a friendly salutation…and an inviting goodbye.

"Indeed," he said with a nod, before turning to leave her and he followed the waitress to his own table.


	10. Chapter 9 Her Cold Dark Corner scene 1

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything but my imagination and whatever else is in this story that doesn't make sense. I was inspired by J.K. Rowlings wonderful world. Enjoy!

**Chapter 9**

**Her Cold Dark Corner**

scene 1

_I have been careless, _

_and so have been thwarted by luck and chance, _

_those wreckers of all but the best laid plans. _

_But I know better now. I understand those things that I did not understand before._

_~Voldemort_

* * *

_Back at the bar......._

"what's that fer?" Tom asked as he looked over the waitress's shoulder. But with his poor, posture the effort wasn't very well accomplished.

Mrs. Lufkins was busy wrapping a tiny bowl.

"No need to save any, He made e'nuf to feed the bloody world." Grunted Tom.

"Tis not for storage ye old fool, It's for Mes Ganjer's cat," she said turning her head to look at him. She then place a clean cloth over the dish. "ce pauvre he is on his last leg, should be any day now."

Tom slapped his thick drying cloth on the bar counter while jabbing his thumb at the stone wall behind them. "Aaa …out wit ye. I'll not 'ave it ye hear. Tis yer fault we've gots loads o' cats in that blasted alley. Knocking th' bins ova every night and it's ye fault I tell ye.

His voice grew louder. "Feeding 'em every night. She can fetch herself one o' dem." he said. -"They all meeoows don't it."

"Ney, no witch would care for those useless bags of fleas," she said. "common strays from the muggle streets. _-sans valeur_ -_Worthless!" _She was pleased with her wrapping, and exited the bar with it.

Tom turned away muttering about _cat stew_.

Draco toyed with the last of his bread pudding. The conversation between the two had only been a little ways from him, and hadn't escaped his ears, because he took in every word of it. He'd have to give credit where credit was due. The bread pudding was very good indeed. Perfectly moistened, with just the precise splash of rum sauce to give it a delicious flavor. But, in spite of that he swirled his spoon against the dish and periodically his eyes found the other end of the room.

Now it seemed that, either the once perfect sauce was suddenly too sweet for his liking, or that rolling knot in his gut was concern for furry beast he hardly gave a damn about

-he decided it had to be the too sweet sauce.

Soon it would be daybreak. Hermione, had left her table at some point, and Draco also noticed that other than himself no one else remained. A narrow window just above his table gave way to a speck of light and newborn morning rays splashed against the wall just opposite of him.

Lost in thought, it took a moment for Draco to realize that the thumping, coming behind the counter was Smitty, the cook. He was drying and resetting a clean arrangement of drinking glasses. "Aye, Six o' clock sharp we'z be closing soon" said the cook.

Draco gave a puzzled look It was a bit odd, why would you close at the start of a work day?

"Muggles," said Smitty, "Keeps'em from wanderin' in looking for their cappuccino's and white cocoa latte's" he said. His tone was a bit on the edgy side as if this had become an annoying problem for them. Muggles wondering in. "We'll be back bout ten `er so shut her down again bout mm..lunch."

"Muggles?" Draco asked with a note of curiosity

"Ye got it. Muggles!"


	11. Chapter 10 Her Cold Dark Corner scene 2

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything but my imagination and whatever else is in this story that doesn't make sense. I was inspired by J.K. Rowlings wonderful world. Enjoy!

**Chapter 10**

**Her Cold Dark Corner**

Scene 2

* * *

Draco tossed the payment for his meal across the table, and stood up from his seat, and turned to fetch the cloak that hung from the back of it. His cloak, - dammit! Now it occured to him that he must have left his cloak on the bed.

"Smitty, is it?" Draco tried not to sound intimidating to the fat face cook.

Mr. Smitty stopped wiping the glasses and looked up at Draco.

"Who's in charge around here?" Draco asked

"Tom."

"Tom eh …and where is he"?

"Gone," answered Smitty "back bout mm..nine thirty er so."

Draco took a quick glance at his watch. "Nine-thirty, that's nearly four hours away." he said.

The cook nodded slowly and went back to drying more glasses.

"Where's the old lady, the one that was just here - the waitress?"

"Gone," Smitty answered again "caught the last night bus outta London."

"Not the most reassuring bloke are you?" Draco said lowly, or so he thought he had, but the stern look from his rather un-wordy informer said otherwise. "It seems that I've forgotten my room key. Be a good man and send a house elf to fetch it for me will you."

Smitty picked up another glass.

"Gone," he grunted. "Left ages ago won't work! -no raise! can't say I blame 'em."

_Great! _Thought Draco, so was he suppose to just sleep on the countertop, or the fucking floor. "Look," Draco said now taking his full height, surely this miserable fool had no idea who he was talking too. "Frankly, I don't give a damn how or what you have to do but I need somewhere to bloody sleep for a while."

Draco was getting a little pissed off with the whole careless arrangement, this was no way to run a business, and if it wasn't for the fact that it was fifty below outside and for the simple fact that he was so damn exhausted he would be in search of any place other than this dusty hell of a hotel.

"If you can't fetch my bloody key for me and if this god forsaken establishment can't supply me with another suitable room!!" his temper was at its peek now. "Then -"

"NO!" Smitty shouted slamming a clear glass on the surface top of the counter. He not so much as flinched when Draco rose his voice. "No Mr…-_Monsieur .._Malfoy._" _Said Smitty. He shoved his hands to his hip and gaving a titter-tot mimick like a sissy girl.

"I can't get yer blooming key! But there's a open room on th' fifth floor 'er so at the end of th' hall…." He snatched something up from the counter and began marching out of sight. "Room without a number on it. Ye can sleep there!." he shouted, and he left.

* * *

Half an hour later…

Little by little the busy morning routine on the muggle streets began. With only a few days until Christmas, the streets sprung to life quickly with walkers, shoppers, current events for the season and of course those seeking their steamy cups of cocoa latte`s.

Hermione entered by way of the fireplace below, wearing a seasonal red cape and holding her ginger-grey cat, who was still resting peacefully in her arms. A mixture of current problems and hidden worries, could not be easily hidden behind those amber eyes. Confusion and anger, resentment and the uncertainty of her own future.

The ending of the war, was not the same for her and seeing Malfoy again reminded her of that. The memory of the war at Hogwarts, the forgotten faces of others fighting so willing passed along freely in her mind as she made her way up the steps that would lead to her room. Hermione closed her eyes to that perfectly preserved moment in her life, it played back like a silver screen matinee.

She was looking directly into the face of Peeves. He had stop fighting and was hovering over her body. "Inlky dinlky girlly got the shaky waakies?"

Hermione didn't answer, she wasn't sure why she was lying with her back on the floor, she was only thankful to be still alive, She and Ron had split apart to speed up the search for the other horcrux. She shouted at the poltergeist and he whizzed away, towards the explosion just north of the castle. Hermione, ran her hands up and down her body and along her face. Searching for blood, but found none. She hadn't been hit she was sure of that much and her body felt fine for now. She found Ron and the others soon enough

She had tried to hide the symptoms, and in the beginning Ron had been very comforting and she knew he only wanted to reassure her that everything would be just fine. However, he knew of the curses, far better than she or Harry.

The morning after the battle ended, the seriousness of what Bellatrix had done to her took its toll and she had been rushed to St. Mungos. Because it had happened again, this time before the entire school and for all to see. She her fell over helpless, shaking, and clawing at the ground. Scorching flaring magic filled the Great Hall.

The sounds of her screams….Some said they thought she was dying.

But no she would not die, not in the way they had expected her to. The Scary truth of it was that Hermione would now have to learn to compromise her life and accept that she would never be well again.

Not the wellness as in; let's have a brilliant jog around the block... No, wellness in a different sense. She was healthy alright, and as fit as any witch her age, smarter than most, a quick thinker, brave enough to accept and master when most would toss their spell book at the problem. But, her drawback, her one handicap… were seizures. Cruciatus Seizures.

That night, at the Malfoy Manor when she, Ron and Harry had been captured by the snatchers. That encounter left Hermione terribly ill.

You see the thing about an unforgivable curse is that it is indeed _unforgiveable_. The Cruciatus Curse known as the torture curse did not leave or simply stop at the flick of your wand. Once hit, once truly struck with the forbidden spell you were destroyed, doomed, never the same again, driven mad from it, or if you were lucky enough died from it… and Bellatrix used the curse on her without mercy that night. Hermione could still recall how badly she wanted to die and even now she would often wake from horrible, painful dreams, each time she relived the curse..._This one will do it….._

_This time will be the last…._

_....she will surely die after this one…._


End file.
